


The Best Birthday Gift Steve Ever Got

by DeducingLoki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Fluff, M/M, Star Spangled Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeducingLoki/pseuds/DeducingLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 4th of July; a time of celebration, and for more than one reason. It's also Steve Rogers' birthday. These document the four best birthdays Steve ever had, with only one recurring factor in each of them; Bucky Barnes, his best friend. From 1924 to 2015, Bucky was always with Steve, even if Steve didn't know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1924

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a fanfic as such, but a collection of drabbles documenting 1924, 1934, 2012 and 2015. The plot and characterisations are in alignment with the MCU adaptations, starring Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes and Chris Evans as Steve Rogers.
> 
> This was written as a gift from the highly successful 'Star Spangled Exchange' to celebrate Captain America's Birthday on the 4th of July. It was written for the Tumblr user scienceofsociopaths. I hope they like it, and I hope you like it too!

Steve hadn’t really understood why there were always firework displays on his birthday- he’d been told that it wasn’t an official celebration, but down to “enthusiastic locals” that the fireworks even took place. He had heard wisps of words here and there, of “freedom” and “pride”, but it was all jumbled in his mind. On top of that, Steve had never been allowed to go and see the display out to the Sunset Park before- until that particular year. His mother claimed it was an extra birthday present, but Steve knew her better than that. It had been eleven firework displays since his father had died overseas. Steve was too young to ever remember his father, and so only relied on what his mother told him. As they walked (slowly, because Steve couldn’t move so fast as he was still recovering from joint ache as a result of the flu) up to where the display was being held, his mother stroked a thumb soothingly over his hand.

“Oh Steve, your father always cherished these firework shows. We first met during the display, actually. The fact that you’re old enough to see them too? It makes me proud. He’d be proud too. You’re our little fighter.” She sighed, arm wobbling as she waved to someone who called her over with a feminine, “cooey!” Steve looked up to his mother, whose eyes glimmered with sadness, yet shone with happiness. Too often had he seen that expression before, the melding of pain and reminiscence, and too often had he felt helpless as she suffered in silence. His protective urge kicked in, and he felt a little ill when he realised there was nothing he could do to ease her pain.

Luckily, he wasn’t forced to dwell on the matter much more, as they finally reached the crowd of people. Steve recognised the woman who had beckoned them over as the local shopkeeper; he hadn’t seen her in years, but since he only knew a handful of people at the most, he didn’t easily forget a face.

“Why, little Mr. Rogers! My, you don’t look a day over 5! Aren’t you approaching six now, dear?” She asked, bending down to stare at his level. Steve scowled and shifted closer to his mother’s leg, who cleared her throat, awkwardly brushing a hand through her hair, a habit Steve learnt that she’d incorporated when under stress.

“Well, Maggie, actually he’s eight now- it’s his birthday,” she explained. Maggie covered her mouth in embarrassment, cheeks flushing a delicate rosy shade, before she apologised and busied herself with a skirt, despite how kempt it was. Suddenly, she excused herself and left, obviously flustered by the whole ordeal. Steve sighed and pouted, frustration boiling in the pit of his stomach and making his eyes sting with tears. His mother sighed and crouched so she was at his level, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“Steve, darling, it’s okay-“

“-No it’s not! It’s not okay. I’m fed up of being so weak. And small. And weak! I want to be more than how I look,” he cried, head hung low. His mother sighed, before she gently pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and dragged his gaze back up to meet her earnest, glassy eyes, brimming with emotions that fragmented in the orbs like brilliant diamond.

“Oh Steve, you are! You are so much more. I know you feel hopeless and alone and weak right now, but some day it will change. One day you’ll make as good of a man as your father was. You be a strong little man, and I swear to you that your strength will be rewarded.” She said, pulling him into a hug, crushing him to her. He felt a little lighter, but still disheartened and lonely. Was an eight year old supposed to feel this way? He wasn’t so certain. She pulled away and stood up, just as the first set of fireworks shot into the sky. They made him jump, and he winced as he felt the bones between his leg and foot crunch and roll over each other as he took a timid step back.

“They’re Howard Stark’s latest inventions, I heard,” his mother explained, as sparks of vibrant blues transfixed Steve, the colour washing over him and making him smile in awe. Streaks of colour lit up the sky, melding with the clear constellations of stars already littering the night sky. As the next set was released with a heart-pounding boom into the sky, Steve felt a harsh tap on his shoulder. He turned in surprise as he was met with the vaguely familiar face of the most popular boy at his school. Steve had only started attending school a few days ago; he’d previously been too sickly to manage school, but his mother had at last convinced herself to let her son go in. 

Steve remembered seeing Bucky on the playground, playing football with the boys and then showing off, boasting his tricks to the girls who giggled at the sidelines, twirling their hair, just like they did in the movies. He was impressed by the boy, and jealous. He was Steve’s definition of perfect. Which reminded him to ask himself- why was Bucky there, and talking to him?

“Oh… hey, Bucky.” Steve said, waving awkwardly, before feeling his own cheeks flush at embarrassment of his own awkwardness. He was starting to empathise with the lady who had mistaken Steve’s age earlier on.

“Hey, you’re Steve, right?” Bucky said, his voice smooth on Steve’s ears. He reeked of confidence, and naturally Steve felt compelled closer, like a magnet to metal. He nodded, barely managing to comprehend the situation, let alone what to say.

“Well, Steve, I noticed that since you’re new, you probably don’t have any friends. Which doesn’t make sense, because in class you seemed like such a really good person. So I wanted to be your friend,” he explained, his expression as serious and as honest as Steve’s mother’s had been when she was trying to console Steve over being weak and fragile. Steve couldn’t help the hopeless grin that stretched across his lips, nodding eagerly.

“Don’t you have lots of friends?” Steve questioned, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Bucky shrugged, nodding slowly as he contemplated his question.

“Well, they all like me, but I don’t really like them. They’re all far too much like bullies for my taste. I don’t like bullies.” Steve’s eyes lit up more and his back straightened, despite the bones that creaked in protest.

“Me neither!” Steve exclaimed. Bucky grinned, and Steve could’ve sworn that his teeth were so bright, he could see the fireworks reflected in them.

“Why don’t you two go and play together?” His mother at last suggested. Steve had been so wrapped up in his conversation with Bucky, he’d secluded himself from his mother. He looked up to her, but she only met him with kind encouragement. She trusted Bucky, clearly, and that was all Steve needed. But then, the familiar recovery-ache of his body reminded him that this would be the first time he went off to play with someone- without his mother, he could get injured. Seriously injured. She sensed his fearful reluctance, and once again bent down.

“Steve, you’ll be fine. I know Bucky’s mother, and everyone says such wonderful things about him and how caring he is. You’ll be safe, and you won’t get injured. Have faith in yourself, honey.” Steve looked deep into her eyes, but saw no hidden meaning laced in her words. She really trusted Bucky. He had no reason not to trust his new friend. Bucky frowned, and then gingerly threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him into his side, despite the fact he was taller than Steve.

“I’ll look after you, kiddo! We’re friends now, and friend means sticking it through ‘til the end, pal.” Bucky explained. Steve grinned again as the fireworks washed over them, bathing them in extravagant colours, as the sparks in the sky matched the sparks between their newfound friendship.

~

“So, tell me about yourself.” Bucky asked, as they knelt on the floor, watching the people dancing around the bonfires. Steve smiled at one couple, who seemed so happy and in love. It was beautiful to witness.

“Well, there’s not much to say-“

“Applesauce!” Bucky spat, and Steve widened his eyes, not expecting the outburst. He furrowed his eyebrows. _Have I messed this up already?_ He wondered, twiddling his thumbs. He shrugged helplessly, hoping his new friend would elaborate on his expletive.

“There’s always much to say. Don’t get lazy on me, kid.” Steve repressed a smile; Bucky was only a few months older than him at best, and yet Bucky had already called him “kid” a handful of times since he introduced himself. Steve liked it.

“Okay… well, my mom’s a nurse, and my dad was a soldier.” Steve began, hopelessness ringing empty, scolding words around his brain. _Boring. He won’t care. Failure._

“Was?”

“Died overseas.” Bucky fell silent at that, and Steve could see in his eyes that he regretted pushing for a response. Bucky shuffled closer, so that their shoulders touched. It was the closest Steve had ever been to someone physically. His heart fluttered beyond his control and he felt a surge of warmth rush through him, but was oblivious over what it meant. _Don’t tell me I’m sick with something else already?_ He fussed internally, but brushed it aside when Bucky leaned his head in a little, his bright blue eyes earnest and trusting.

“Mine too.” He murmured, his eyes flickering between Steve’s, as if searching for something. Steve felt the impulse to lean closer, and give the boy whatever he was searching for; he wanted nothing more than to help him. Now he knew that Bucky understood, he felt nothing but acceptance. If he wasn’t before, Bucky was now completely a part of Steve’s life. Not sure what to do, Steve followed the twitching of his muscles, opened his arms and embraced Bucky, his arms sliding underneath Bucky’s to wrap around his waist, resting his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Fortunately, Bucky was the perfect size; he was taller than Steve, and wider, making him more comfortable. Bucky tensed beneath the grip, but Steve fought his urge to pull away out of fear of ruining their friendship, knowing that he needed this, whether Bucky did or not. After a moment, Bucky relaxed and gingerly pulled Steve closer, exhaling in content. Steve felt the realisation sink in like quicksand- Bucky was afraid of hurting Steve. He’d prove to his friend eventually, that he isn’t quite as breakable as that, he decided.  
“This is gonna be the beginning of something beautiful, Steve,” Bucky muttered, pulling away. Steve pulled back quickly, resuming staring at the couples laughing and dancing and drinking the night away, lost in their own havens. 

“I’m gonna stick by you until the end.” He continued, Steve content to sit and listen to Bucky ramble, until curiosity got the better of him.

“End of what?”

“Well… I have always been kinda straightforward, y’know? I don’t see life as a circle like you’re supposed to. I see it… I see it like a line. So to put it lightly, it’ll be until the end of the line.” He explained, and Steve nodded in understanding.

“Me too. ‘Til the end of the line.”

“That can be _our_ phrase!” Bucky cried, sitting up straight until he knelt by Steve, eyes sparkling, and not just from the bonfire. His face was only inches from Steve's.

“I’m with you Steve, ‘til the end of the line.” Bucky said, thumping his fist over his chest, where his heart sat. Steve grinned; it was his best birthday ever.


	2. 1934

“My ma never was fond of those fireworks, y’know. She only ever went because dad always loved them.” Steve reflected, staring into the empty void of night sky, waiting for the fireworks to begin, knowing that sentimentality was beginning to get the better of him, like the sea washing over the sand, dragging away Steve’s happiness, ebbing and chipping away at it, piece by piece.

He felt a flush of guilt for inwardly expressing that he felt sad- it was his birthday, the fourth of July, and if he wasn't careful, he was at risk of moping for the whole of it. He battled off his remorse with gritted teeth- his mother had only died two years ago. Surely he had some rights to still feel the occasional pang of longing, of grief, no? But then he felt the familiar presence at his side, the literal light in the pressing veil of darkness that sadness brought. Their shoulders touched, intimately close to each other, and Steve finally allowed a small, dignified smile to cross his lips, the darkness fading a little, making room for something warm and welcoming.

“On the other hand, I met you ten years ago today,” Steve continued, turning his head to look at the subject of his affection. Bucky met his gaze with delight, his trademark playful and boyish smile stretching across his lips, until his cheeks almost met his eyes. Bucky leant his shoulder into Steve’s and nudged him, being careful not to push Steve over, fully aware that he was capable of doing so. Steve’s strength hadn’t exactly improved in ten years, they were both aware of that.

“Best birthday present ever, right?” Bucky drawled, sticking his tongue out. Steve nudged back, shaking his head in mockery. Their heads both quickly swivelled to face the sky when the first charged boom of a sparkling firework illuminated the sky, washing the dark with brilliant colours, reflecting vibrantly on the American colours- sparks of red, white and blue glittered along the veil of darkness until they melded to the stars. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see that Bucky’s face was lit with the colours they both were entranced by, and he could see the glint of pleasure in his eyes from his peripheral. His heart thumped faster, glad that his friend was so happy, and again he was left mystified by the alien feeling that coursed through his veins, heating his cheeks. He wondered what it meant. 

The fireworks paused as always, as the handlers began reloading the area to send more up. Bucky shifted, took a deep breath and turned to look at Steve again.  
“Y’know kiddo, it’s crazy that we’re both eighteen. I mean, I still feel like I’m twelve! Now we’re expected to do adult things.” 

“Buck, you’ve been doing adult things since I was sixteen. The only one not growing up in any way whatsoever is yours truly.” Steve replied, patting Bucky’s shoulder in gratitude. Bucky had taken care of Steve at school, and when his mother had died. He was convinced that he’d even grown closer to Bucky than he had to his mother, as her time of death drew nearer.

“Yeah yeah yeah… Official adult things, then. Like… getting a job.” Bucky cleared his throat, signifying to Steve, _“this is an important conversation that we need to have at some point. Maybe now, maybe later, but we do need to have it, and this is me warning you about it.”_ Steve sighed, a frown tipping one side of his smile downwards, until his eyebrows furrowed and his face painted the picture of discontent. Despite the grave nature that was beginning to churn the conversation, Bucky snorted at Steve’s expression.

“Jesus, you’d think I just ruined Christmas. I’m just sayin’, some day we need to actually figure out what we’re gonna do for the rest of our lovely little lives. I’m clueless.” Steve listened quietly, each word Bucky uttered causing a thousand new words, new trails, new branches to spike Steve’s mind, now full to the brim with ideas, possibilities, insecurities.

“I dunno… Look at me! I’m sickly, I’m weak… I’m good for nothing. You? You’re intelligent, you’re strong, you’re confident…” Steve trailed off, hoping that Bucky would be able to use Steve’s compliments to spur Bucky on to come up with his own compliments for himself. 

Steve knew Bucky was good at acting overly-confident and boisterous, but it was quite the façade at times. Bucky was usually fairly confident, and had an ego that could fill a ballroom when the mood struck him. But Bucky usually ended up disregarding himself in favour of Steve. It was the only quality Steve found less favourable in Bucky- Bucky was quick to point out all the wonderful things about Steve, but much slower to point out all the wonderful things about himself.

“Steve, that intelligence and strength is face value. It’s _nothing_. You’ve got so much more! You got a solid heart of gold, you know that? It’s a rare quality that not a lot of guys these days have.” Bucky insisted, shaking his head as he sidled closer to Steve still. By this time, the fireworks had taken up again, but the pair were too busy trying to out-compliment each other to pay attention. 

“Bucky, you’ve got a gold heart too, you’re just refusing to see it!” Bucky shook his head.

“No Steve, you know that’s not true. You’ve seen some of the stuff I’ve done before, and you know the whole “gold-heart” thing is trash when it comes to me. You know me, Steve. Stop trying to make me feel better.” He denied, looking deeply into Steve’s eyes, willing Steve to see. This time, he was signifying, _“Steve, I appreciate that you’re trying to boost my ego and compliment me, but I’ve already accepted this. Please, go with it, accept this is how I feel, and move on? Please?”_ Steve nodded in reception to the signal, and Bucky relaxed, a more gentle smile breaking out over his lips. It was so convenient that they were so mentally connected to each other that they didn’t have to have half the conversations they had aloud. It was a potent relationship, and they both enjoyed it with every inch of their beings.

“Punk.” Bucky muttered.

“Jerk.” Steve retaliated, unable to stop himself from laughing. Bucky broke out in fits of laughter over how completely the conversation had spun around, and then he placed his left hand on Steve’s chest. Steve frowned, feeling a strange burning sensation sear through his skin where Bucky touched him. Why did he react this way? What does it mean?  
He opened his mouth to ask, when he wondered why Bucky hadn’t moved his right arm the whole time. The penny dropped.

“Steve, shut your eyes. It’s about time I gave you your birthday present!” Bucky cried over the crackling of the fireworks in the sky. Steve felt his cheeks heat gently out of the surprised embarrassment of having a present, but he closed his eyes anyway, allowing the gentle swarm of light produced from the fireworks swim across his closed eyelids, faint reds and whites breaking through the darkness.

“It’s all I could afford, with the work I’m doing right now, so… I’m sorry for that. But I hope you’ll like it anyway.” Bucky said, voice rising over the fireworks by leaning in to talk into Steve’s ear. Steve grinned as he opened his eyes, and Bucky placed something in his hands. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gift, but with the aid of the bright lights in the sky, Steve quickly came to recognise it as a thick wad of paper; the cover read as “Professional Artist’s Paper” in which it explained that it was pressed to provide the best surface for any artist’s pencil. Atop of the wad was a tin, that had “Artist Essentials” scrawled into the metal. Steve opened it after a small struggle with his weak wrists, and gasped in delight- inside was eight pencils of varying graphite grades, from HB to 2B, as well as five coloured pencils in blue, red, green, black and yellow, and an eraser. 

“Yeah.” Bucky said simply, running a hand nervously through his hair as he studied Steve’s reaction.

“Buck, this is amazing! Thank you! I love it!” Steve said at last, looking up to his friend. Bucky shrugged, trying desperately to show that it was nothing, when even Steve could see that Bucky was pleased- and relieved- that he liked his gift.

“I know that you don’t think that your art’s all that special, but from the stuff I manage to sneak a look at when you’re not around or when you leave odd scraps of paper with sketches on it, you’re a liar. And a bad one at that,” Steve blushed furiously at the compliment, but Bucky didn’t relent, determined to show Steve exactly how he felt.  
“I have always believed in your art and now you have a chance to really go for it, and not just rely on stealing napkins from wherever we choose to go and eat at! I promise you it’s good, and now you have a chance to prove it. So there.” He said stubbornly. Steve’s grin widened and without even hesitating, he pulled Steve into a hug, arm reaching to wrap around his best friend’s neck. As the fireworks glittered and exploded around them, Steve knew he was safe, and he was home. Home wasn’t a place, it was a person. And that person was Bucky.


	3. 2012

Steve’s lips cracked into a faint smile when he heard a random onlooker to the annual firework celebrations scream, “God bless America!” He shook his head knowingly as the smile widened when other people joined in ceremoniously yelling the phrase. One of the best things he’d learnt since waking up from his “extra-long sleep” was that America had remained the strong, proud nation it always had been. As troubled as he had come to learn that the nation as a whole was, it still remained solid, barely scraping by but always outwardly trying its best. The first boom of the firework felt hollow and deep in his chest, and his head snapped up further than he remembered he used to have to look up; the cap he wore to protect his disguise was preventing him from getting a clear view at his usual height of observing. However, he opted to continue wearing it. 

“I don’t want this celebration’s moment to be stolen by my appearance,” he muttered aloud, recalling the last time he’d set foot in a crowded public area. It had been mayhem. Cameras, journals, magazines with secret photos of him out and about plastered on the covers, t-shirts- all thrust in his face, along with the crowded, loud jabbering of excitement, of questioning. It was okay sometimes- he could use his voice to persuade people to use theirs. He was planning on using his public appearances in aid of social justice and campaigning for equality, but not on the Fourth of July. This day would not become a day for spreading awareness.

He whistled quietly, impressed by how much the fireworks had changed since when he used to watch them, before the war. According to Tony, they still used Stark technology for the fireworks; a sweeping of nostalgia washed over Steve, as he remembered with a sigh of both humour and reminiscence the first year that they implemented Stark fireworks. The very first one to be set off wasn’t set up correctly by one of Stark’s distracted assistants- who was doing a fine job until Howard began to openly flirt with her- and subsequently shot backwards and to the left, setting fire to a nearby tree. Steve had done all he could to help, which was next to nothing, and luckily no one was injured, except for the tree.

Steve became so wrapped up in his own nostalgia that a snort escaped his breath, and he turned to his left, to tell his best friend- he felt like Bucky had been there. His heart crumpled and tears pricked his eyes when he remembered, suddenly brought back to reality, as if reality itself had coldly slapped him around the face, leaving his cheek to sting, his heart broken.

Flashes of what had happened on the train flickered through his mind, and he winced, the sound of Bucky’s scream as he plunged to his icy demise still ringing in his ears. After all, to anyone other than Steve, seventy years had passed since Bucky had fallen from the train. But to Steve, it had been only several months- in that seventy years of him laid dormant, he’d felt like no time had passed. 

He was still grieving, still damaged by the loss of the man who meant everything to him. The countless times Bucky had saved his ass, had protected him from danger and harm, had put himself in harm’s way for the sake of Steve’s safety, and had generally been the best friend anyone could ever have asked for, crushed Steve, knowing he’d never had a chance to say goodbye. “Grab my hand,” was in no way a fitting last sentence to say to someone who had turned your life around.

His sudden onslaught of grief was only worsened when he realised that it would be the first time he watched the annual firework display without his best birthday present by his side, having even spent his first ever display getting to know the best thing to happen to him. Momentarily crippled, his jaw fell slack as his eyes became watery and his vision blurred, the sharp definition of the fireworks becoming unfocused constellations that danced across a field of black. To his surprise, he felt a small but firm tug on his jeans. He quickly sniffled, blinking away the remnants of his pain and looked down in bewilderment, to be greeted with the sight of a small child, eyes so bright and blue that Steve noticed them immediately even in the dark, illuminated with brilliant colours. Besides his bright eyes, Steve could have sworn that the boy looked familiar, igniting recognition deep in Steve’s brain.

Steve knelt down so his face would be level with the boy's, and the child beamed brightly, his chest puffing quicker as his breathing accelerated. His hands were now behind his back, as if they were concealing something. Steve’s curiosity stifled the pain he felt before, and he gently cocked his head to one side.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” He asked gently, wondering what the child was about to say. Did the kid recognise him? After all, he’d figured that despite his build, he’d done a fairly good job of disguising himself- wearing baggy clothing to hide his shape, a cap to shield his hair, head down to detract attention. After all, it was the costume that had become famous, his other persona- Steve Rogers was still just as unpopular as ever, it was Captain America that had gained attention. However, it imminently became clear that the boy did in fact recognise Steve. 

“Happy birthday, Mr. America. And thank you,” the little boy said, after clearing his throat. He held himself shrunken in, shy, and that only made Steve more eager to respond- he saw a lot of himself in the child. Steve’s eyebrows rose, surprised that the kid knew it was his birthday- he guessed that he must have been an avid Captain America fan, and had read the comics that were released back during the War. 

“Well, thank you very much, kiddo. That’s very kind of you to remember. But, may I ask, why are you thanking me?” 

“You saved me and my family in our car, back when the aliens attacked New York. You might not remember, but-“

“-Did you give me back my shield?” Steve asked, enthusiasm surging through his bones and bubbling to the surface, practically yelling with how excited he was to finally place recognition to the little face before him. The boy nodded with as much enthusiasm as Steve felt, his grin widening, eyes sparkling with the kind of happiness only found in youth. 

“Well thank you for that too! And as for the saving, no family deserves to go through what happened back then. I was doing my duty, sir.” Steve said, saluting the child as if he still served in the war, and the child was his commander, knowing it would probably make the boy even happier, that Captain America called him sir. The kid giggled, and then pulled himself forward, gripping Steve’s shoulders, and wrapped his arms around Steve, resting his smaller head on Steve’s large shoulders. At first, he didn’t know how to react- it had been the first time in a long time since he’d been hugged. Impulse rocketed his arms to gently wrap around the boy, and so they both hugged. 

Steve closed his eyes, beaming- _sometimes all it takes is a little innocent kindness_ , he thought. At last, the boy pulled away, finally presenting Steve with his bunched fist. He opened his fingers slowly, to reveal a metal charm resting in his palm. Steve’s eyebrows rose again, as he looked from the necklace to the boy.

“This is my birthday present to you, Mr. America.” The boy said, holding his hand out further. Steve felt a little mean taking anything away from a child, and the charm did look nice; it was a simple red star.

“I don’t know if I should... I mean, won’t you miss it? I’m not sure...” Steve tried, but the kid didn’t listen, instead taking advantage of one of Steve’s free hands, placing the cool metal object in it.

“I want you to have it, sir. It’s to bring luck; I went to see a fortune-teller, and she told me that the star would mean something to someone someday, but not to me. When I realised I wanted to give it to you, I realised it would mean something to you.” He explained. The boy was very knowledgeable for his age- he couldn’t have been much over ten, but he was wise, and observant. _Admirable qualities_ , Steve thought.

“Well then, thank you very much.” Steve said, a smile breaking out across his face again, as he slipped the charm over his neck, the weight being well balanced as the cool metal seeped through his shirt and tingled over his skin pleasantly. He frowned as the kid began to walk away, and out of the need to never forget the moment, he called out to him.

“Wait! What’s your name, son?!” The kid turned and grinned.

“My name’s Jamie!” He cried, before waving and running off to join the silhouettes beckoning him to them. Steve grinned as the fireworks reflected into his new star, and then a soft sigh escaped his breath. _I wonder what the star will mean to me in the end_ , he thought. As his gaze returned to the stars and the colourful sparks that joined them, his thoughts drifted back to Bucky. He saluted the sky, and then pulled out a photo he had stashed in his back pocket, one of the lasting memories he had of his fallen friend. 

He held the photo up to the sky, so that Bucky wouldn’t miss the display. After all, not doing it would be seen as giving up on Bucky, and Steve would never do that. Not to him.

“You never gave up on me, did you pal? Well, here’s to you, Buck. Here’s to everything.” Steve murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was a tiny homage to the scene in the comics when, following Bucky's "demise", Steve draws a picture of him smiling, and holds it up to the Grand Canyon's night sky, as Bucky said he always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Always gets me choked up.


	4. 2015

Steve’s belly fluttered with nerves, almost audible as he checked his watch yet again.

“Five minutes,” he mumbled absentmindedly. “Five minutes until the fireworks start.” The reason that this display was more nerve-wracking than any he’d had before was based on the sound that the explosive delights made. Would they sound too similar to gunshots for Bucky to handle? Would he panic, afraid that he would relapse?

 _I shouldn’t have brought him out_ , Steve fretted. _He’s not ready, surely_. Steve’s anxious thoughts were interrupted by the quiet, masculine murmur of the object of his fixations, to his left.

“You okay, Steve?” Bucky asked. Steve’s heart murmured, briefly halted, out of sheer flattery- despite everything Bucky had seen and gone through, he still found it in him to ask if Steve was alright, when Bucky must know that Steve was okay enough to function. It proved that Bucky was inviting Steve to discuss the smaller, more insignificant-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things problems he was working through. It was another glimpse into Bucky’s humanity, which was thankfully becoming more common now.

Steve couldn’t believe that this time three years ago he had been alone. Now, he had his best friend by his side, and already in recovery. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, as the first firework sears into the sky, hissing in its wake. He winced, expecting Bucky to react badly. Maybe panic, maybe flip out completely, maybe run rampant through the city. However, to Steve’s relief, he does none of those things- instead, Bucky grins, eyes gleaming. It must have been a real reprieve to see explosives light up the sky with colour, and not result in the deaths of anyone- well, unless something were to go Howard Stark-style wrong. He watched the emotions shift on his best friend’s face, from happiness to wonder, and Steve decides to use the distraction as an opportunity to test the physical boundaries.

Before three months prior to the display, Bucky couldn’t bear to be touched- he was terrified that he’d accidentally hurt someone, as a result of his metal arm. However, with some surprisingly useful paintballing weekends with all the members of the Avengers and solid three-hour sessions with Natasha in one of Tony’s gyms, Bucky had begun to trust himself to touch others without hurting them.

So Steve shuffled closer to Bucky, so their shoulders brushed against each other, sending sparks shooting through Steve’s arm. Bucky noticed, and turned to look at Steve, the grin still firmly fixed to his lips, curved elegantly across his face, crinkling the skin around his eyes. It was the happiest Steve had ever seen him since before the War.

Tentatively, Bucky’s right hand glided across Steve’s left, skin on skin, and then Bucky softly held onto it, clasping tight enough to convince Steve, “Please don’t let go,” whilst simultaneously saying, “If you want, you can let go.” Steve’s heart fell still in his chest.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever willingly touched me, Buck!” Steve said, encouraged as he gave Bucky’s hand the gentlest of squeezes of reassurance.

Bucky cocked his head, testing something in his mind, and then he began to slowly shuffle forward, as the lights of the firework illuminated his bright eyes, and catching wisps of his hair and trapping them with coloured light. Bucky then closed the distance between himself and Steve, and Steve felt numb with shock. In the space of five seconds they’d gone from holding hands- which was a large feat for Bucky in itself- to a full hug, a solid embrace. The hug felt exactly as it had done on Steve’s eighteenth birthday, when they’d held onto each other and not let go as the fireworks raged around them.

Steve widened his eyes as he felt Bucky clasping his fingers at Steve’s jacket, as if no matter how close they got, it would never be close enough. Steve’s chest pressed against Bucky, and he felt total, unadulterated joy. The recovery process had its ups and downs, and this was most definitely an up. Suddenly, Bucky gasped, body racking. Steve pulled away slightly, eyes full of concern.

“What is it, Buck?”

“Art!” Bucky shouted, his eyes wide and bright. Steve could make out the fireworks, reflected in his friend’s eyes. A flicker of hope ignited in his chest as it tightened, but he forced his voice into being calm and curious, refusing hope to get the better of him. _Is he alluding to my eighteenth birthday? Perhaps the hug triggered a memory_ , he thought, biting his lip in excitement, as Bucky mulled it over in his mind.

“Art..?” Bucky repeated, cocking his head as his bright, innocent expression darkened slightly as he concentrated on what he was trying to remember.

“Go on, what about art..?” Steve urged, the glimmer becoming a flame, that was so warm he felt his temperature physically rise in response. This was enough, right here, he decided. Even if Bucky couldn’t remember the entire memory, just the trigger word was enough to please Steve beyond words. A shimmer of doubt crossed Bucky’s face as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Well, I… I can’t remember much, but I feel like my mind is a barrier. Before, it was just my mind, but now it feels like there’s a barrier in there, and something’s trying to break through. Our hug reminded me of something on the other side of the barrier, the side I can’t reach, and it’s connected to art somehow. I know it. I _feel_ it. Art… Oh! An art set? Like, some pencils and paper..?” He tried, voice becoming quieter as he explained. Steve yelled unintelligibly, fighting the urge to shake Bucky by the shoulders.

“No, you’re right! For my eighteenth birthday, you got me some pencils and paper and you and I hugged for ages as the fireworks went off,” Steve explained in a rush, words tumbling out over each other in his desperate will to make Bucky comprehend how right he had been. Bucky laughed, pride flickering across his features, as he silently mouthed self-approval and turned to continue watching the fireworks litter the stars, moving to Steve’s right without realising it. Steve felt pride surge through him for his best friend, as he continued to almost completely ignore the fireworks, content to watch them reflected in his friend’s bright eyes.

A surprisingly cool breath of wind whipped at Steve, his v-neck shirt exposing the base of his neck to the draft, cooling the metal charm that sat on it. Steve picked up the charm, inspecting it with intense curiosity, stomach dropping out of pure shock that the little boy from three years ago’s prediction had come true.

His heart picked up the pace until it felt like a hummingbird, desperate to escape from his chest, as his gaze flitted repeatedly from Bucky’s metal arm, now in view from when Bucky had moved, to the charm. The faded red star painted on Bucky’s arm was identical in colour, shape and object to the metal charm he had been given three years ago.

“I realised it would mean something to you,” little Jamie had told him. That same phrase echoed like bells in Steve’s brain, and he snorted in surprise. He silently thanked the little boy, wherever he was, fighting the slightly strange feeling that came from finding out that some fortune-teller had _correctly_ predicted Steve's future, and passed it on to another boy.

He didn’t dwell on the charm for too long, however, when he felt Bucky’s figure imminently close to him, so their shoulders brushed together again, the rigidity of the metal pressing against Steve’s arm. _I can’t believe I was with him for his first memory to return, and that the first memory for him to recall being from my eighteenth_ , he thought in awe, a sense of pride welling in his chest. That large step in recovery was Steve’s second best birthday present he ever got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! That's the fic done. I love a bit of nostalgia and angst, and I hope this collection is satisfactory for you all! Thank you for reading and if you have the time, please drop a comment to let me know what you thought/suggestions for improvement when I begin writing my proper fanfiction, about Vampire!Bucky and Human!Steve.


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